The fellowship after the ring
by Chiara Cadrich
Summary: Several tales about the fellowship growing old. Today : Rumors of the Shire.
1. The prancing hero

**The prancing hero.**

.oOo.

 _SR. 1422, early september, in a pasture of Father Cotton…_

I am happy in my prairie. I gallop there at ease. I mark the moles' clods. I sniff the bark of my apple trees - I like apples! I scout the boundaries of my field. It is a rich pasture, there is a bit of everything - clover, tall grass... And in winter, I have haystacks in my cabin. It is a reassuring and comfortable little hut. That is my master who built it. I love him, my master. I'm expecting him, he's coming.

My master, he gave me a treasure. He is proud of me, my master! He said to me:

\- "Bill, my boy, I plant two rows of tatters! These are my best! You eat alfalfa, but no tatters! And then you guard them! Nobody touches the precious tatters! "

So I guard the tatters for him, my master! I'm expecting him, he's coming.

At first I urinated on the tatters ... Yeah, if not, who knows I'm guarding them? But my master was not happy about that... So I do it no more. Nice master! Good master, my savior! I'm expecting him, he's coming. What is he doing?

Sometimes he takes his tiny one with him. It is so small and cute! It's scaring at first, it moves and screams! But I smelled it - a sweet scent of milk and anise, firm and laughing, as tender as a foal! I love him, my master. He's coming, I'm expecting him. What is he doing?

My master loves his tiny one even more than his treasure, so I guard it for him too! My master puts it on my back, while keeping it in his arms. I neigh softly when the tiny one clings to my mane. That would be nice, foals all over my meadow...

Ah! I can hear him, here he is! I recognize his august step, regular on the way, with his tiny one on his shoulders and his spade in hand!

.oOo.

This evening, Master Samwise visits Bill, his adventure companion. Neighing, pawing and small prancing around the proudly guarded treasure. Elanor laughs for fear and delight while giving an apple to the big glutton, even obtaining a smile from pale Frodo.

Tiny One bareback riding, the fine team is climbing up the hill trail, under the glow of the conniving moon. The evening mists are more intoxicating, earth scents are more exciting than usual - a youth and adventure perfume invigorates the burdened walk of a pampered and fatty pony.

The small company is sinking at dusk under the foliage of the green hills. Soon the road winds on the hillside, at Bill's peaceful rhythm under Elanor's delighted babble. Frodo comes forward, his face gaunt under the pale moon. He knows Sam oversees him with the corner of his eye - a bad memory is so quickly revived...

A yelp startles men and beast! The pale moon veils her face with quivering clouds. So sweating Frodo draws from his breast, a little white stone on a chain... but an elven singing rises, piercing the shadows with its limpid eternity.

Soon, surrounded by fireflies, the company walks on the imperishable flowers under the vesperal lights of another age the world. Bathed in pine scents and relaxing their feet on the foam lining the running water, the hobbits satiate with light in the eyes of their host.

Elven maidens form a touching choir around the hobbit child, marveling at this little elf lost in a mortal family. Her innocent chirping wakes a round of caressing hymns. Under the astonished blue gaze of the tiny one, the graceful and expert hands of the maidens, weave her short blond hair as a bright sunshine.

Sam surrenders to the wonders of this daydream, so moved to share it with his daughter. He could never tell this unspeakable bliss. Leaving the clearing's grass and the fruits of the High Elves' strange seasons, Bill perks up its ears to the sounds of reed pipes and glorious tales of yore. Frodo, panting and grateful, lets the balm of elven voices and lyrics spread on the wounds of his scarred soul.

Under the blessed foliage, weary from their labors on these marred lands, the Noldor let go off the last torches of their pride. Gildor and his people long for the secular homes of their kin overseas, radiating with a hope inaccessible to mortals. Yet the Elf Lord's serious forehead, nods kindly at the pleas of Frodo, who already bears his troubled look beyond the days of this world.

At dawn, that lights lilac pearls in the indistinct gray of the night, the elves leave to prepare their final journey.

On the threshold of the clearing, Bill the pony, that watches over the sleeping hobbits, addresses a last neigh for the Noldor.

So Gildor hums in its ear, a tune of serenity, longevity and hope. Then, giving him elven waybread, he blessed the pony and said:

"My four-legs fellow, may you help your Master and his family in their last test, when only the faithful Friend can bear the burden of the old days..."

 _A few days later, Bilbo, Frodo, Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond and many elves are to embark at the havens... Then Bill brings Sam back to the fold, supporting with all the love of a pony, the burden of his dear Master and his heartbreak._

.oOo.

 _SR. 1432 Spring, on the way from Green Fields to lake Nenuial…_

\- "Your Majesty, Hobbitkind expresses its most friendly feelings and calls for the successful establishment of the King in his northern mansions!"

Sam, wearing a loose jacket of crimson taffeta, over one of Bilbo's old silk jacket, is profusely sweating under his green feather hat. With bombast and awkwardness, he browses the parchment speech written by Merry, and looks at his audience with apprehension.

Pippin laughs:

\- "For pity's sake, Sam, at least take off this ridiculous lace collar! Even the Old Took had abandoned it! "

Sam feels like a minnow in the bucket of a kitchen boy, as they say in Frogmorton - ready for the pan. He would rather be thirty leagues away, at home alongside Rose, Elanor and Frodo, his youngest.

Merry suppresses a smile and comes by:

\- "You do not need to dress with your full garb, in order to repeat, my dear Sam! For curtsy, just remove your headgear this way, then simply bow down, like this.

\- If my poor old gaffer could see me, he would certainly complain about such trinkets and antics!

\- When heading to Annúminas, the King's capital in the North, to attend a ceremony confirming the Shire's granting, you must indulge in some sartorial effort, Mayor Gamgee!

\- What a pity for me to be the mayor! I'm like cut in half: seeing Strider again would be such a joy, but I cannot learn all this etiquette in three days! "

The most famous gardener of the Shire, embarrassed by his rapier and irritated by his laces, waddles like a faulty butler. At his side, Bill grazes conscientiously fatty clovers between the hobbits' packages, chasing flies with his black tail.

\- "As for the etiquette, exclaims Pippin, leave it to me and just try to imitate me, my natural charisma will do for both of us! After all, one cannot require a pony to match the king's horse in a single day!1 "

Recently, some success with his cousin Diamond somehow turned the Tuckburrough's cockerel's head. Merry is about to talk him down, but Bill indulges itself in bringing the young Thain to more modesty, by urinating on his package!

Ignoring the rain of complaints, Sam flatters the neck of his old companion with a smirk:

\- "My dear Bill is naturally pretty clever too! Sometimes I get the impression he understands everything is said... Anyway, this official trip has restored him! "

.oOo.

 _SR 1443 Spring, somewhere on the road from Minas Tirith to Imloth Melui…_

For this royal house party, the guards of the citadel ride at a respectful distance.

 _Aragorn_ \- "I am very surprised that you were able to take him along for this long journey! He must get old!

 _Sam_ \- You might as well call it magic! No doubt my Bill is now the Shire's ponies' dean! We didn't mean to take him... He had a very swollen fetlock the day of our departure, but he rushed into his box like a madponey and escaped to join us. I didn't have the heart to leave him behind... "

Elanor gently flatters the neck of her old mount:

 _Elanor_ – "His health improved once we hit the road! Now he seems like a dashing stallion of the year! The ideal mount for a lady companion of the Queen!".

Sam raises an eyebrow. Perhaps the young Hobbit wishes the Pony to be offered to her? His ears listening, Bill stops at the edge of the road and, to his riders' annoyance, quietly begins to graze. The king smiles:

 _Aragorn_ \- "But like any good veteran, he never misses an opportunity for a tasty meal along the way!"

The Queen glances a fervent and bright look at her husband:

 _Arwen_ \- "I understand this brave little soldier! Staying back when those you love run for adventure, is an unbearable ordeal for a brave heart! "

Then she nods thoughtfully and adds, as if to herself:

 _Arwen_ \- "He has a duty towards his master, and will never let you leave him behind! "

.oOo.

 _SR. 1482 winter, after Rosie Cotton's death…_

I'm uncomfortable in my prairie. The clods of moles invaded the valuable tatters' square. For idleness, I nibbled the bark of apple trees and have them burst. It is rich, my pasture, but I lost my appetite. I tossed and turned around my cabin. It does not reassure me any more to take refuge. That is my master who had built it. I love him, my master. I expect him, he no longer comes.

I feel he is gone, far away... He would not leave without his Bill, would he? I'm afraid he took the road to the West... I can feel it...

The last time I saw him, my master was not himself. I really felt he was terribly unhappy. His eyes saw off me. He absently stared at the emptiness, holding in his fists an old wreath of dried flowers.

When I came for a caress, my master began to cry, his face buried in my mane. He cried all night, as stubbornly as the mist that covered us.

In the early morning, his oldest daughter Elanor found us. She looked frightened and angry, so I made her understand that the Master was safe with me. But she pushed me back into my hut and called me "old ass!"

Then she said to the master: "Come, Daddy! You must not stay alone! You're coming with us to the Tower Hills. The whole Greenholm family will be glad to welcome you!"

I'm not as stout as before, but I cannot leave my master alone for his last journey! I promised!

.oOo.

 _At Elanor Gardner and Fastred Greenholm's mansion, at tower hills_

 _Fastred_ \- "How is he?

 _Elanor_ \- He did not sleep very well... And he remained motionless all day long, and in the afternoon his face turned towards the setting sun through the window.

 _Fastred_ \- Provide him with some of your tatters pie! He loves them!

 _Elanor_ \- My brother Merry wrote me that Daddy's old pony has run away... I do not dare to tell him – he loved it so much, it could be a terrible choc."

But that very evening, a meager equine walks down the hill and into the farmyard to collapse there, exhausted.

Master Samwise draws his eyes up from the evening mist and rushes to rescue his old friend.

That night, finally, the two elders, hobbit and pony, sleep deeply, both huddled in the straw. The next and following days, the last ringbearer, confused by the loyalty, endurance and longevity of his quadruped companion, found appetite and courage in himself, to perk it up.

Under the amazed eyes of Elanor, Fastred and their family, the old pony recovers and the grandfather gains back some desire for living. Every morning - when it does not rain - Elanor allows a walk on the moors, to the ancient tower of the elves.

When she learns that after these escapades, his father climbs to the top of the silver tower to contemplate the west, while Bill sports with small white horses of the ancient elven havens, Elanor gets angry at her husband. The Warden of WestMarch has lent the tower key to her father - forty-four and hundred steps, at his age!

Elanor then surrounds her father and the old pony with attention, petting, supervision, careful grooming, often inviting the Thain and the Master of Buckland, spying, and preventing their every need.

Yet Elanor knows in her heart she cannot indefinitely fight the long defeat. When Sam entrusts her with the red book of WestMarch, the last chapter of which is covered with his diligent handwriting, his eldest daughter hides her fears and sadness.

.oOo.

This morning, the east wind lashes across the estuary. Gray ragged flock from beyond the towers, bellowing at my companions' worried ears.

But I'm not afraid. I followed many tracks. I overcame many hills. I went through many wild deserts. I fought and distanced wolves. I found my Master back.

Today, under the evil hiss of the storm, my Master Sam straddles me for our last adventure. The lightning strikes his murderous lightnings, but my Master clings to my mane. Today it's Me leading my dear Master. My young mare-friends surround and guide me. I fly faster than the threatening winds.

.oOo.

Raindrops mingle with Elanor's tears as she rushes under the storm. Sam and Bill have disappeared. She thinks where to find them and climbs the hill. When she finally reaches the tall white tower, lightning falls on its top in a deafening roar. Elanor gets back up, trembling, and calls on the threshold of the immemorial tower. Only thunder rolls reply. Then her anxiety gives way to despair.

After long hours of walking, Elanor reaches the coastline. There is nothing on the gray shores. Shipwrights' workshops are deserted. The docks, swept by rain, are empty.

Yet a small herd of white mares lingers at the edge of the waves, beating the pebbles with their hooves and neighing in the wind.

As Elanor joins them, the rain's dullness tears off the Gulf of Lhûn2. Far from the shore, the sun pierces the western sea ablaze with bloody fires, while the wind inflates a large white sail. The very last elven ship has left Mithlond.

.oOo.

The following summer, the herd of Tower Hills expands with many foals, mottled white and brown.

This solid race will be deemed very intelligent and gentle with children. They love apples and this weakness will be used to the train. Hobbits even say that they are capable of fighting wolves.

Meriadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, who has conducted extensive studies on the land of Bree - its population, its pipe-weed, its language, its equine herd, etc. – will establish that herds of Tower Hills are related to the hardy Bree ponies.

Peregrin Took, the Thain, will therefore suggest that this remarkable race would be named "Pony Ferny" in memory, he says with a smile, for a famous apples-lover that once lived in Bree, and who indulged in the business of selling ponies.

But in the Gardner family, Bill's lineage will be known as the "Prancing Ponies".

.oOo.

 **NOTES**

Chronology (SR– Shire Reckoning)

The recorded history of bipedals, leaves little room to their faithful companions of toil and travel...

Elanor is born on march 25, 1421

On september 22, 1421, Frodo, Bilbo, Gandalf and elves leave Middle Earth at Mithlond

1436 Elanor becomes one of the lady companion of Queen Arwen.

1442 Sam and family visit Aragorn in Gondor.

1451 Elanor weds Fastred of Greenholm. WestMarch, land of hills and moors, is annexed to the Shire by royal decision.

1455 At Sam's request, the Kings entrusts Fastred with the duty of Warden of the Towers, in WestMarch.

1482 Passing of Rose Cotton, Sam's spouse.

1483 Sam gives Elanor Bilbo and Frodo's book, now called « The red Book of WestMarch », and goes to Mithlond for his last trip with Bill.

1 Expression from Tuckburrough, which suggests that high competence may not be acquired without hard work and innate abilities.

2 River Lhûn : rises at the eastern slopes of the northern Blue Mountains, then skirts them southward, before crossing them and flowing into a large gulf on the western sea.


	2. Perenial regrets for Peregrin

**Perenial Regrets for Peregrin**

.oOo.

The red satin scarf marking his charge tied at his waist, Sam Gamgee stood before the young couple, even more troubled than at his own wedding. His neat speech, written with Meriadoc's lively style, was long forgotten! As Mayor of Michel Delving, Sam was committed to the dubious honor of performing a wise admonition. But as father of the bride, with a lump in his throat and moisture in his eye, he could only stammer moving platitudes, evoking the thousand little joys that slowly, throughout a girl's blossom, deprive the father of the days of grace and the fullness of parental vocation.

Ruby Gamgee and Galabroc Brandybuck engaged their faith, exchanging the traditional fried bread-before an emotional and a somehow tearful gathering.

Sam was about to resume his speech when his wife Rosie pushed Peregrin's elbow. As Buckland Master also beaconed at him, Pippin therefore advanced with his natural ease, in order to cheer the assembly:

\- "May you two plant and harvest without limits! And for proper toasts, our host the master of Buckland... "

But his energetic wife Diamond, intervened vigorously:

\- " Let me hold you still for a moment! Here is a present I am entitled to give to the newlyweds, on behalf of Their Majesties Queen Undomiel and King Elessar! "

An admiring murmur arose among the hobbits. Diamond strutted and wielded the bulky golden package with Gondor's arms, avoiding giving it.

Pippin sighed. Annoyed, he reacted at once, raising his voice cheerfully:

"And now, the Master of Buckland invites everyone to the banquet on the banks of the Brandywine, where they are to receive their gifts!"

The hobbits' heart never hesitates before the promise of extraordinary feasts. The crowd walked away, while Diamond, stripped of the royal aura, threw a dark glance at her ironic husband.

.oOo.

The colorful banners of the party were dancing in a joyful breeze, under the mild sun of Buckland. The orchestra began a frenzied jig, drawing on the wooden dance floor, seasoned revelers, confirmed bachelors and turbulent Hobbit youth. The elders, strategically massed at the table where laid a promissing barrel of beer, encouraged their offspring in rhythm, rivaling with viol, pipe and drum.

A franc wistful smile on their faces reddened by the dance, the girls rolled up their party dresses, rivaling with mischievous leaping lads, dressed in bright colors. Faramir Took, the Thain's heir, soon led his wife Goldilocks, born Gamgee, the chance of pregnancy momentarily left slender and alert.

Shaking his gloomy mood, Peregrin applauded, welcoming the enthusiasm of the smiling and hopping couple.

Meriadoc sat at his side with a huge frothy pint, his comrade grabbed with a sigh of resignation. Since the beginning of the wedding, the Master of Buckland had unsuccessfully tried to raise the morale of his Took cousin:

 _Merry -_ "I can't believe I am a grandfather again! Let us toast to the health of our grandchildren! "

A hearty swig found its assigned path. But at that late hour meal, if the crackling flattered the Brandybuck's teasing verve, alcohol revived the Took's morose mood. Many wrinkles had come to mark Pippin's chubby face, accentuating the venerable aura of his graying temples. As he was absently watching the dance, Meriadoc continued with a faint cheer:

 _Merry_ \- "What a beautiful step-daughter you have! Your son is very lucky! What a dancer and what a smile! "

But Peregrin seemed lost in dark thoughts, his old friend had promised to get him rid of:

 _Merry_ \- "Don't you think, old chap, that the most beautiful thing under the sky, is the smile of one's wife?

\- Maybe for you!", Pippin replied tonelessly. Then he added, staring into the void: "... For me, it's rather my birthday party!

\- Really ? Why so?, Merry asked, delighted his cousin would awaken somehow.

\- It comes back more often! "Pippin whispered wryly.

Merry bit his lip and, glancing sideways toward the other end of the master table, he saw Diamond, Pippin's cantankerous wife, who was watching them carefully. Cramped in an indigo silk dress, she rolled suspicious eyes, fanning herself with a superior air. As Merry saluted her with his mug in the air, she stiffly turned her head aside. Always quick to scold her husband, she held her household with an iron hand, arguing that Pippin's carefree affability befitted not the charge of Thain, and that only the descendants of the Bullroarer from Long Cleeve - the northern Took branch, whence she came from - showed worthy of its dignity...

 _Merry_ \- "So it's not getting better between you?"

Pippin shrugged:

\- "Yes and no... She has become a bit dull... Then she hears and answers only half my sarcasms. But in return, she screams her reproaches stronger and more often...

\- How did you two get there?

\- If you follow me, she married thanery1 but she must endure Peregrin...

\- I acknowledge her hat has considerably narrowed recently.2 But is she alone at fault?

\- Do you think that if I had been able to fix things, I would spend my time in peregrinations3 all over the Shire, just to avoid her? "

Merry understood very well... Hence, desperate times called for desperate measures. He patted the plump hand of a young hobbit that was boldly advancing towards the sweets plate at the masters table. Then, throwing the offender a cream puff with a wink, he sent him fetch the "treasures of Old Tobbie".4

.oOo.

The two cousins relaxed in the sanctuary of Brandy Hall's highest balcony. Their smoke rings rose into the evening liquid gold, dancing to the blare of the party that flew up to them. Merry read Gimli's last letter - the venerable dwarf described with forcefully enthusiastic details, the progress of the colony King Eomer had granted him at Aglarond.

But it took a bottle of Dorwinion's major vintage to brighten Pippin. The powerful beverage at first awakened his senses by lining his throat as with a generously spicy balm. The dark thoughts flew as were fading the lump and the aftertaste of failure in his throat. The next gulps, revealing delicate old leather smells, evoked the vigorous energy of a long walk. Then subtle floral and resinated aromas reminded him the sweet sensation of a comforting stage.

As the Old Tobbie disseminated its soft soothing notes in the raking light, the cousins exchanged a knowing glance, remembering that communion in pipe-weed always preceded or concluded some practical joke...

Merry threw carelessly:

\- "Who would have thought, at Isengard's siege, we would smoke together, growing older and older?

\- Growing older and older? I would rather grow younger and younger!" Pippin said after a particularly successful smoke ring.

His sprite's eyes shining in the growing darkness, Merry smiled a victorious grin - the cousin was himself again.

.oOo.

Feverish like a hobbitling about to commit his first pilferage, Pippin leaned toward one of the wooden boxes, illuminating the inscriptions with his lantern:

\- "They bear His mark indeed!"

Merry wisely had him step back:

\- "They date back from Ford's Comitia fair, the year He and old Paladin had caught you in a greenhouse with the younger Hornblower girl! While you were frolicking, I stole his gear in the face!

\- I wish I could have seen His eyebrows tremble with indignation!

\- I doubt that very much! I skip the unpleasant details, but He was so angry, I have hidden and never dared neither speak nor use it!

\- This concealment is an unspeakable treachery! There is only one way for you to be forgiven! "

.oOo.

Forgiveness was colossal.

A dwarf candle burst into the night, streaking the sky with blue shooting stars in a deafening bang.

The guests drew their heads up, vaguely alarmed. Youngsters asked for more, but their parents hesitated. Some elders remembered the fireworks an old grizzled olibrius had once given, it was agreed that was certainly a gift from the King of Fornost. In these circumstances, it seemed difficult to escape the boisterous firework...

Then two sprites were seen, two shadows scurrying atop Brandy Hall, and the guests settled in for the show. Diamond bridled, making no comment and pursing her lips like someone who knew better. Yet she was boiling inside - her irresponsible scamp husband was certainly behind that indecent fuss!

When everything was ready, fires arose in the night in a deafening roar. Multicolored fountains gushed, spreading on the hill bright flowers with jasmine wakes. Red flares hurled fire eagles in a furious flapping of wings. Glittering clouds escaped like a flock of small twittering birds, and fell limply and wrapping the trees in soft luminescence.

Merry and Pippin, laughing breathlessly in this endless thunder, had found the carelessness of their youth. Pointing at the various colored explosions, they marveled at the miraculous forms that sprang at their erratic firing, as children dazzle to play correctly on their master's precious instrument. Green fireflies flew all around them, tinkling a sweet chorus melody, the cousins had hummed in Rivendell.

The sparkling waterfalls of Bruinen fell for a moment in the Brandywine in bluish vapor, revealing the fleeting lanterns of the last Homely Home on the opposite bank. Stunned Merry and Pippin took turns, relishing stealing with impunity the last gift of their old friend, and imagining his bushy eyebrows softened by his knowing smile.

A high silver bark raised, dividing into many dazzling twigs - then the tree bloomed suddenly in lush golden flowering. Suddenly back in Caras Galadhon, Merry and Pippin gazed at the light Mallorn, enthroned over Brandy Hall.

Finally they opened the last box, the smallest which contained only one beautifully made rocket, that bore on each face, the mask of an elf casting a mute spell.

 _Merry_ \- "There is something written next to the G : home truths! Maybe we should not fire that one?

 _Pippin_ \- Are you kidding? It's the last one and obviously mine! Let's see what old Gandalf is still worth! "

The rocket flew with a shrill whistle. It burst above the Brandywine, releasing myriads of tiny silver lights, which danced strange arabesques that every different glance interpreted at will. In the strangely hypnotic swirls his imagination crystallized in the form of two striking faces, Pippin recognized himself, a frank smile on his face. The pretty face of his wife also appeared, oval of perfect beauty, as he had forgotten, he thought with a heavy heart.

As the arsonists were walking down the hill, the two celestial faces slowly took age, Pippin's portrait retaining his sarcastic expression of indolence, while Diamond's hieratic beauty froze under vain layers of greasy lush. Finally the vision became unbearable: a libidinous fool grimaced obscenities at a haughty and complacent deflated skin balloon.

Suddenly the heavenly lights burst, leaving the audience the fleeting impression of a final strange premonition. But only Peregrin and Diamond had seen each other, such as the sky had revealed. In reality, every hobbit had contemplated a part of his future, brittle germ forged by his state of mind in this moment of happiness and promises.

.oOo.

Diamond stood up, furious. She had not been pleased, to the least… She put some order in her toilet before turning to Pippin. She addressed him sternly:

\- "How old will you take the measure of the Thain's responsibilities?"

Poor Diamond choked with fury, her voice cracking. Humiliated, fed up with disappointment, she vented her bitterness in the face of jaded Pippin. Everything went out - continual wanderings, his complete lack of decorum, his inconceivable casualness, his absolute lack of head for business, his notable deficiency in dressing style, his revolting populism, his ridiculous penchant for schoolboy jokes, etc.

When the chapter of hoaxes opened, Pippin's smirk further aggravated Diamond's aggressive verve. She screamed that "Peregrin had better stay in distant countries, as an obedient lackey of this noisy wandering boor-mage!"

That is when the unthinkable happened - a firecracker, probably fallen unscathed during the fireworks, had suddenly burst on Diamond's taffeta hat. The unfortunate Hobbit uttered a hoarse yelp and, trembling with nervous tremors, threw her cap off.

When she meant to invectivate Peregrin, who was no longer laughing, no sound could come out of Diamond's throat. Struck dumb, she dropped her accusing finger. Devoid of any hatred, she looked worried Pippin with new eyes. As the contrite Thain approached, she took a deep breath, and made him a sign: "Do not worry about me, it's really not worth the trouble any more now..." and walked away, supported by her son Faramir and her hostess Estella Brandybuck.

As Meriadoc reassured his guests and asked the musicians for a jig, Peregrin gazed distractedly at the starry sky, muttering to himself:

\- "Diamond mute! After all these years, the fireworks of Gandalf the Grey can still accomplish wonders!"

Dance reappeared on the floor, and thirst at all tables. Good mood swept like strings of firecrackers, Pippin and Merry were distributing to hobbitlings, while recounting the exploits of old Gandalf.

.oOo.

 _Epilog_

Indeed, the wizard had given his last fad - a lesson of courage for his beloved hobbits. Each of them, with his own point of view, had managed to unveil a glimpse of possible future in the starry sky that night. And they had been many to make use of it, according to their own wisdom.

As a matter of fact, this year saw a profusion of good resolutions, weddings, or long deferred businesses. Brandy Hall fireworks remained famous for the unexpected engagements and the bold ideas that had blossomed under the soft glow of the Mallorn. As for Diamond and Pippin, a wise decision came to reassure their existence.

Shortly after this last stunt, the Thain's couple took some distance, to the relief of their relatives. Diamond returned to rule over the Tooks of Long Cleeve, and actively engaged in charity works, under the high patronage of Queen Undomiel.

Peregrin, meanwhile, granted the charge of Thain to Faramir, and retired with Merry in Buckland, in a small house at Creekhollow.

It is said the two terrible old hobbits often ran away in the Old Forest, from where they mysteriously returned unscathed and even... invigorated!

.oOo.

 **NOTES**

1 The office of Thain

2 Expression from the Marish, insinuating that the person has a swelling head.

3 Probably Peregrin was doomed to such deeds…

4 Old Tobbie is one of the most prized blend of pipeweed from Southfarthing

1 The office of Thain

2 Expression from the Marish, insinuating that the person has a swelling head.

3 Now you know the true etymology of the word "Peregrinations" : Peregrin's many trips here, there and back again…

4 Old Tobbie is one of the most prized blend of pipeweed from Southfarthing.


	3. The dream of Boromir

**The apotheosis of Boromir,** _or_ **The dream of maturity.**

.oOo.

 _TA. 3018, the companies of Gondor bivouac at Osgiliath. In recent days, Faramir has been dreaming strange premonitions. He mentions them to his older brother. Boromir, in turn, falls into an evocative dream, somewhat different from his younger's..._

.o.

Glorious fanfares in western breeze,

Children of Gondor in a vengeful impulse,

Unfurl the banner where bloom white trees.

Fiery defender of Eärnur's scepter,

Victorious vigil, the Stewart conquers.

His male boldness exalts beyond fear,

Faithful companions in ardent battalions.

.o.

Seven pale stars of ancient banners

At the palace dome at last abloom.

Restored hopes shine at the frontispiece

Of wilted Osgiliath's relieved mansions.

.o.

The winged crown again commands Anduin.

The heir of Mardil, farsighted bailiff,

Ponders the schemes of glorious tomorrows.

In marred Ithilien his healing hand

Relieves vineyards, forests, cots and forts.

Dark Minas Morgul, docile to her winner

Regains honor with her former name.

.o.

Riders of Khand, princely chariots of Rhûn,

Lay down at his feet pledges of alliance.

Ever victor his sword decides the fate,

The pacified tribes implore his mercy.

.o.

The son of Denethor, among many hostages

Princesses conquered in distant Harad,

In the harbor of Umbar, marries the wisest.

The naves of Linhir on the serene shore

Revive the homage of Uinen's covenant.

Veiling the proud gaze of his recumbent father,

Accepts the fearless kings' inheritance.

.o.

His numenorean lineage perpetuates,

Under the silver flowers of a vigorous scion.

At the hallowed steles the crowd in procession,

With his blessed sword knights a captain,

Eldest sprout from the side of his queen.

.o.

On the verge of satisfying his dream of eternity,

The sacrilege illusion suddenly vanishes!

Rath Dinen rejects with authority

The ambition of an unholy old age :

.o.

The sword that was broken look for at Imladris!

The conclave of free people

Will forge a pact against Barad Dur.

The bane of Isildur that fears the west,

May seal our destiny with honor or infamy.

The Halfling's steps may shake

The basis of ancient powers. 1

.o.

 _A few weeks later, using his birthright, Boromir departs and searches for Imladris, supported by ambiguous hopes..._

.oOo.

 **NOTES :**

1 The genuine verses are :

Seek for the Sword that was broken

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the halfling forth shall stand


	4. The stone of Master Sam

**The Lhûn stones**

.oOo.

 _At Tower Hills..._

\- « Master, do you think wise to… Well shouldn't you wait for his Majesty's return from his ride on the beach?

\- My dear Fastred ! At my age, the unwise is to wait! Besides, lately caution has been boring me to death! And I beg you, stop giving me "Master"!

\- Ah, that won't be possible, Master!

\- I am no longer master of anything! Not even of my doings, as it seems… I gave back my scarf and the town key! - He showed his empty silver chain. Now you are the Warden of Westmarch! From now on, the burden falls on your sturdy shoulders, and concerns on your discerning mind. These ancient elven towers are at your guard.

\- Well as a matter of fact..."

Under the gulls' complaints, the young hobbit lifted his gaze to the summit of the great tower, which defied the gusts charged with spray. The high room, distant and sharp tip, peaked under the whirling skies. Fastred, though stiffened by duty's resoluteness, felt the ages gaze at him from the top of the ancient tower, the venerable protective shadow of which enveloped them in some wistful connivance.

Sam took advantage of his son-in-law's unrest:

\- « Your role is to preserve them for future generations! And not to hinder an Elder in search for answers, even if he staggers a bit!

\- But since the King said that is forbidden! He repeated that while leaving the Tower, just yesterday, at his last visit!

\- My boy, the ban is for you! The Marchwarden may not climb the marches, in a sense! But an old hobbit on his life's threshold should do so. Leave the King to me - are we not old travel fellows?

\- But I'm afraid for you, Master!

The old hobbit continued wearily, staring toward the sea:

\- "You know, doubts happen to bother me, lately... I wonder... Maybe I should see things from a higher point of view..."

Samwise Gamgee's unusually serious and distant tone alarmed quite a bit his son-in-law, who was thinking at the one hundred and forty-four steps waiting for the old hobbit. But the glimmer of hope shining in Sam's pupils admitted no reply.

The old hobbit had recovered his fair demeanor. He gently patted Fastred's broad shoulders with a reassuring pout:

\- "Don't worry, I shan't collapse today! And maybe you should reserve your authority for my daughter, that shouldn't hurt!" Sam slyly added, winking his eye.

Suppressing a smile, Fastred conceded the big bunch, his hand slightly shaking:

\- "I'm waiting for you here, Master. Call if you need me! "

.oOo.

Sam turned the powerful key. Escaped from his childhood's nursery rhymes, murky fear and guilt reminiscences flew at the edge of his soul, nonetheless filled with respect for the venerable elven wonders.

The marble door wing spun without squealing, calling the daring old hobbit to slip into the doorway. When Sam passed the threshold, at once the world's rumor vanished, relegating outside the rampant ritornello of ephemeral hopes and human vanities, and leaving him alone with his nagging doubts.

The vast circular room lit up with slender scripts friezes, that ran on alabaster columns and around bas-reliefs, and then flew in tight sheaves along the barrel of the great tower. Time seemed to have wrapped the stone with all its memories, and covered the walls with its annals, recorded into thin runic whorls. A large staircase spread its turns toward the upper room, filled with endless seasons' tales, which mingled, from one floor to another, the prophecies of an age and the feats of the next.

The old hobbit slowly climbed the first flight of stairs. The warm and gentle touch of the white marble rested his tired bare feet. Sam's shod cane woke knowing echoes, that called him to the floors up. Comforted by this manifest compassion, Sam climbed slowly without overreach. Somewhere around the eighth stage, a chair timely offered him a short break. And it is almost without realizing it, that old Gamgee found himself turning the strange ornate key in the lock of the Elven high room.

.oOo.

Light penetrated like a flood by tall windows that surrounded the room, bathing the stone panels in bright glares. Sam blinked, disoriented and unbalanced by the unreal clarity, and he would have fallen down the stairs if the door had not closed behind him, like the hand of a mother supporting her child's first steps.

As his vision slowly became accustomed to the intense celestial light, Sam glimpsed around him, the remnants of a bygone era materialize as from the mist. For centuries, glasses and graphometers had been awaiting their master's eye. It was there, old Mister Bilbo had once told him, that Elendil had watched the arrival of Gil-galad's armies, at the glorious days of the Last Alliance. Lookout of fate eternally perched on the mast of the world, the high room greeted the elven dusk and watched the dawn of men.

Short of breath at the window, the hobbit gazed at the lapis jagged peaks hemmed with snow. With an amazed look, he embraced the majestic Lhûn estuary, the deserted hills and the industrious Shire, as sharp and distant as a cherished memory.

His eye sated, Sam forsook the astrolabes and precious metal abacus. He did not linger in cushions and silks. Ignoring the fountain and the silver ewer as well, the hobbit set his sights on a high stool, he roosted on, as casually as an apple pilferer visiting Bywater's orchards. But he dared not lay hands on the object of his lust - the Palantir of Tower hills.

.oOo.

His feverish fingers resting timidly on the edge of the alabaster plate, the old hobbit stared at the dark stone, blinking like an owl, attentive and hesitant. Each window threw confusing reflections, like many eyes scrutinizing his own uncertainty.

His kind face, wrinkled and tired by the tests of a long and busy life, was intensely looking at the inert stone, apparently waiting for some sign that was not coming. The perfect sphere laid immovable, anchored in time as an immutable mark around which revolved the high room, the winds, the naves of the Gulf of Lhûn and the whole of middle earth. The blinding lights slided on his dark mass, without disturbing the abyssal stillness at the center of the Palantir.

The hobbit waited long, vaguely hoping that the stone would give him a clue. But he had to face the facts - like the mirror he had once probed in the Golden Wood, the Stones of Vision could not be tamed by anybody. How could it be otherwise? What was he doing there, pushed by selfish anxieties? What answers could possibly Sam Gamgee hope for, defying the King's ban about a relic that far exceeded the Shire gardener's understanding of his? The dark roundness kept returning his questioning and skeptical look.

As he became aware of his exorbitant claim, Sam sighed and rested his chin on his hands. This renunciation freed his thoughts, that flew to the distant past, besides his beloved master.

He thought of Frodo at his study, young and carefree. He saw him reading family exploits before an audience of young pranksters. The juvenile gang was laughing at mimes of young beaming Baggins, who probably launched his mocking verses and frivolous spikes at some cousins. Yet Frodo was inhabited by an inner light, and his eyes, when Sam paid attention, reminded both the sweet serenity of Imladris and the radiant fullness of victory at the field of Cormalen. And the joy inside Frodo seemed of a matured hobbit, who would have been desperately hurt, yet freed from despair.

And then, as Frodo was happily waving his leaves, Sam noticed his hand, from which the ring finger was missing!

Sam sat up with staring eyes - Frodo was silently haranguing at the heart of the Palantir! So the stone had awakened at last! Around Frodo, a band of young elves was cheering, while his former master bowed, blushing.

Sounds initially hustled down Sam's throat, out of emotion. Then, as he was calling his master with all his soul to share his doubts, he thought he saw him shudder and look around. But a tall elven woman let her embroidery and turned to Frodo to congratulate him, along with some elven lords. As Frodo addressed her with ardor, she got up, with the shadow of a frown on her lofty brow, turned and lifted her penetrating gaze to Sam.

Then Lady Galadriel's fair face lit with a knowing smile, that spanned the leagues across the chasms of the collapsed sea, to pour its redemptive balm in Sam's heart. The old hobbit stifled a sigh. - he had again forgotten how beautiful the Lady was. Master Elrond joined them, and all three left the undergrowth to advance on a white pebble beach, dotted with brilliant gems.

Frodo, surrounded by the Elven Lords, was waving at Sam, sending him a moving message of compassion and hope. Then, seized with a sudden inspiration, the former master of Bag-End took a small white stone hanging from his neck on a chain. After kissing the stone, he threw it in the waves that bathed the shore in front of him, under the approving eye of Elrond and Galadriel.

.oOo.

Slowly, large leather-gloved hands lifted Sam, carefully enveloping him in a worn rider's coat. The tall warrior in chainmail briefly probed the stone with a proud and wise gaze. In the Palantir, he saw, bathed in clear waves, a small white gem set with silver– the very same, it seemed, he had found this afternoon on the Lhûn's shore. He kissed the old hobbit on the brow and clung the gem on his chain with his blessing. Then he closed the door of the elven sanctuary and took the asleep body down the stairs.

When they came out of the tower to the starlight, Fastred hastened to his stepfather:

\- "How is he, your Majesty?

\- Do not worry! He is sound asleep, after long hesitation at the crossroads of memories and destinies. You were right to warn me. But for now he must rest. Samwise Gamgee will soon be ready for a last journey, that should not be prevented. Can I rely on your diligence, Warden of Westmarch?

\- It will be done according to your wish, O King Elessar! ", Fastred bowed.

Nevertheless he added, softly muttering to himself:

\- "... provided I can convince my dear Elanor to consent to that!"

.oOo.


	5. A garden in the far woods

**A garden in the far woods.**

.oOo.

Two hooded figures glided through the door of the orchard. Their short furtive shadows hushed in the morning gloom, that veiled hawthorn bushes with indistinct mists. The cock Brandy Hall gave a muffled call in the indecisive dawn, making the two conspirators startle.

 _M_ \- "I knew you could not wake up on time!

 _P_ \- We would not leave without breaking our fast, would we?

 _M_ \- But you didn't have to fry this dozen eggs! Estella's basket was quite enough! Now it is late, and Melilot told the trees... Anyway, let's go! "

The two old hobbits journeyed through the grove as quickly as their stiff joints allowed. Sometimes Merry unveiled his lantern at the crossroads of slimy ruts and thick hedges. Then they listened to the muffled yawns of awaking Buckland, like a herds-hound's yelping, or the mooing of a dairy cow demanding her morning milking.

Finally, the two hoods hobbled by an alley of walnut and cherry, which got lost in an uncertain grove. Diving under heavy crimson foliage, Merry and Pippin arrived in front of a towering hedge, variegated with species of all heights, seeded over the centuries by chance and hobbits eager to protect themselves from the dangers of the Old Forest.

The path dug into the earth, to pass under the imposing hedge. The tunnel entrance was crowded with branches and dead leaves, littering the path to the door, beneath the thick roots of the hedge. Only the lock seemed relatively recent - oil stains were fighting rust, that ate the solid oaken gate's fittings.

\- "This door already seemed old the first time we got through it!" Pippin shuddered, his feet freezing on the wet leaves.

When, in reply, Merry turned the key, the lock gave a dry grinding, which echo defied the spongy silence of the forest.

The Hobbits' pulse quickened slightly, as once. But this time the apprehension that pinched Merry's heart, mingled with a sense of freedom - the master of Buckland abandoned the cares of his office behind the gate, he locked carefully.

As Pippin crossed the porch, a tingling ran through his numb limbs, waking a forgotten sensation. He inhaled deeply the forest's mists - his senses forsook his small inner pains and the hassles of his old body, to turn to humus aromas and colors rising in the ageless morning of wilderness. He listened to the branches dripping on dry leaves, in the attentive contemplation of the forest. A hushed murmur spread through the canopy, animating with morning stirrings, the trunks drowsed by the deep night. A benevolent vigilance was awaking under the foliage.

The hobbits looked at each other. They recognized this fugitive and delectable feeling - their heart swelling with an inexplicable hope, a light butterfly fluttering in their bowels, an unexpected thrill invigorating their tired carcasses. They went into adventure, gather mushrooms in the Old Forest!

.oOo.

After over an hour of cheerful hiking between a vermilion dais and a golden carpet, the mist began to fade under the slanting rays of the autumn sun. The accomplices, though attentive to surrounding noise, agreed about a stop in a small gap among majestic oaks. This was not about lighting a campfire, of course - just a few moments to rest, sustain and direct themselves. Hobbits kept in memory an old painful adventure along the Withywindle - they took care of the slightest suspicion of drowsiness and avoided to sit under any tree.

Pippin stole an apple-doughnut, Estella Brandybuck had fried the night before for her many grandchildren. Delightly crunching the treat, he threw:

 _P_ \- "Cousin, at Tuckburrows, everyone knows a forest like this -a beautiful and respectable forest, he added, raising his voice at the surrounding oaks - does not provide for fungi. I mean, nothing worthy of my basket anyway, he added softly. We have been climbing all along, the ground is too dry. Are you certain that you did not already lost us?

 _M_ – You dear miscreant Took! Do you remember the mushrooms and bacon fricassee at the Inn of the Bridge, last week? It seems to me that you have taken three times that firm flesh, tasty and delicate, haven't you? "

The rekindled spark in the Took's pupil proved that this dish worth of a king, had let a lasting memory. Thus Merry pushed his advantage:

 _M_ \- "We're shortly going down the side of the Withywindle. It is halfway the stream, my niece told me, she found these wonders. And she pretends there were chaterelles and coprins, and even morels, she has not picked because they were too small! But you must open your eyes! Melilot claims there was something a little odd! "

.oOo.

A harangue that vein was enough to perk a doubtfull Took – with maybe several more doughnuts. The hobbits took their baskets and left the gap, hobbling silently through the woods to the south-east.

Merry had told the truth.

Soon the slope bent, and the undergrowth brightened here and there with fair spots, that pointed under dead leaves.

The old hobbits animated, swirling from mushroom to mushroom, sniffing and puncturing like two butterflies, gray with nectar. Yet in a corner of their silver curly head, watched the ancient and infallible olfactory reserve of their fathers. Some poisonous amanita and other suspects boletuses were removed, but soon coprins, ceps and chanterelles piled.

Suddenly a heavy branch fell between them, oozing and worm-eaten, with a sickening crack. The thought occurred to them that a reasonable harvesting would probably fit, and for a time they progressed without filling their baskets.

But the fungi proved increasingly appetizing. The cousins went down a gentle slope, spanning roots and creeping under the brambles, now abandoning the "pieces" and claiming only "the king's shares", firm and without defect. In recent Hobbit memory, never mushroom hunting1 was so exciting. Sometimes they had to slip under the crowded branches of mulberry trees, picking generous tithing by the way. Abrasions conferred an incomparable value to their prizes, which would enhance their flavor.

Gradually, brambles gave way to wild roses, the flowers of which swayed over a bed of small chanterelles. The Hobbits continued, delighted by this amazing lately flowered clumps. Then the branches laden with roses wrapped in graceful arches. The old trees now alternated floral skies and openwork foliage. Merry merely wondered about this spring blossom in full fall. Yet the hobbits finally advanced in the lanes, amazingly well drawn, which widened as they descended. Without any clear break marking the boundary, the two friends had passed from a wild hawthorn grove to a cleverly designed rose garden, bursting with bright colors in a diaphanous light.

Melilot's disturbing words cleared: that was weird, to say the least! An unlikely gardener had ventured to the heart of the wild wood, to grow timeless flowers. The hedges did not seem really cut with instruments, yet bent to the will of the gardener. Further, elegant shrubs and young ash trees strengthened the walkways, that evoked the distant plant mazes of Lorien. The heady fragrances, constantly renewed, passed quickly in the breeze that animated the branches.

They disturbed a little red squirrel, that was finishing the daily inspection of his hiding acorns and hazelnuts. The animal seemed angry, toddled down from the walnut tree he was exploring and stood in front of Merry indignantly. The hobbit walked, advancing his hand to attract the small animal which tended his sniffing muzzle. After a volley of acute protests have welcomed their attempt to appropriate a pile of hazelnuts, they retreated, a little ashamed.

The trail led under a large grove, well cleaned and cleared of lower branches, which favored the proliferation of beautiful ferns and several species of lavish mushrooms, duly confined to their small diamonds, separated by white pebbles. No collapsed trunk, no untimely root, no quagmire hindered their walk. The natural vivacity of trees and plants was there under kind control. The gardener's spirit of order was reflected in the stimulated but subject growth of each species.

Merry noticed a family of mice heaping reserves at the foot of a gnarled oak, it lodged between the roots of which. Even small animals seemed to contribute to the domesticated harmony of the wood! The cheering cousins, held by the charm, smelled again and again the sweet scents like two old sniffer dogs invigorated, by renewed senses. When they finally lifted their truffle, the sun cast pale rays through the red foliage.

Merry sat up, alarmed.

The dull glow of the sun at its zenith had dispersed the mists and allowed him to orient himself. Exorcising unwelcome memories of their former woes, he realized the hobbits had forgotten all sense of time, frolicking in the maze of undergrowth.

.oOo.

But a hobbit heart may not worry in a pampered nature and a flowered soil. They were reassured by imagining such an inspired and competent gardener would not rebuke them. Pippin, whose years had not altered the radiant carelessness, muttered under his breath:

\- "This winter garden is absolutely beautiful! But who may... "

The hobbits' looks crossed in a flash of lucid stupor. In unison with their vows, the fellows sang a refrain, emerged from their youngster years' memories:

 _"Oh come merry looning!_

 _Sound a dong-a-dill!_

 _Drill a dong, drolling ding!_

 _Gay Master Bombadill! "_

When their young voices of merry old hobbit fell, they pricked up their ears, smiling in advance to echoes of the catchy chorus, they expected to hear arise in the distant, hopping in the thickets. With a bated breath and pounding heart, they hopefully probed the breeze for a few minutes.

But a cool wind freshened their hope, bearing to them the vigilant silence of the wild woods. A feeling of attention crept closer and made them stand spine.

 _M_ \- "Well, I guess it doesn't work every time!

 _P_ \- Perhaps He only comes when his guests are really in danger?", Pippin tried with a touch of hope.

Merry gave him a reproachful look and said:

 _M_ \- "Or, as is more likely, He's gone, like all the others... We better go!"

The two hoary and disenchanted hobbits, took their baskets and headed westward, cutting the shortest to the hedge. They hobbled at an even pace, without enthusiasm, a little ashamed of their disappointed hopes, along the paths lined with white pebbles. Yet, from time to time, they turned back, peering and listening again.

A curious phenomenon produced then: as their concentration was fixed, the breeze seemed to calm down, the forest seemed to freeze, mitigating the rustle of its twigs. On the contrary, when they resumed their walk, their temples beating a staccato rhythm, whispering leaves, branches crackling, buzzing of insects and birds melodies resumed carelessly.

Accompanied by the gurgling of an incongruous brook, the hobbits were walking in a sinuous valley. Young apple trees sheltered there, pell-mell with flowers and fruits in the warm air. The smiling trench led them to an old willow, which blocked the course along the brook with its huge dome of green, silver and gold foliage.

A little worried, the hobbits advanced. The horrible memory of Old-Man-Willow, who had once held them imprisoned between its shearing roots, was strangely mingled with some hope, inexplicable and visceral, vague but persistent.

.oOo.

Under a large canopy of greenery, a multitude of plants of all sizes budded, bathed in soft and wet light. Large stone jars, filled with strange and vaguely bright colored liqueurs, spread fragrance of resin and wild strawberry. The warm air was humming the low tone of bees, busying around a hive nestled in the hollow of an old stump.

A small hunchback tree stretched its frail but strongly fingered branches above ferns. It lacked the brushwood that had been once bearing, fall after fall, bushels of golden fruits, hatched to disseminate life. Its smooth and worn deep brown bark, showed some bright red burls that evoked almost the body of a tired old woman.

The cousins approached the stone basins, raising on tiptoe to dip their cup. Their intuition had not deceived them. Each delectable swig warmed their heart, fragrant like a honeycomb distilling wild berries. Then they sat in the ferns, and they soon found that strange feeling back - their heart at peace seemed spreading a serene vitality in their tired body. A healthy tingling waved to their toes, stirring the root of their white hair, itching their skin, as if the energy of a full day of plowing flowed in their members.

While the charmed hobbits quietly sipped the drink, the little tree snorted suddenly, as a grandmother wakes from a fortuitous slumber. Near the main fork of its branches, two large knots, streaked with dark red, opened and revealed huge and attentive brown eyes. The green sparks of her thoughts, dormant in the depths of the dark brown and smooth pond of her eyes, seemed to float up on the surface of the present, towards the hectic aerial existence, leaving at the bottom of the marshes, layers of decaying leaves, like as many centuries of memories. The slow chants of swarming and silty growth, raised there to the fast time of the world, to mingle with the frantic ditties of ephemeral hopes and human vanities.

A large and thin red mouth outlined under a callous nodule resembling a nose. A deep yet feminine voice rose, where the torrents of the Blue Mountains happily rolled their pebbles. In her breath sighed the powerful fibers of Arvernien cedars, swinging in the sea breeze. Myriads of heavy ears hissed there beneath the autumnal squall of Thargelion. The memory of the growing world spoke through that voice. Rocky as a winter cough yet soft and moist like a spring rain, she sang the summer fullness and the fever of autumn harvests.

\- "Harum, barum-ha! I thought of the ripe wheat in the wind. Who pulled me out of my dreams of growing. Are my broths and liquors ready? But... petty buds! Who is this?"

The old tree-woman turned her scorched face to Merry, bowing slightly to contemplate him. Now lowered, her arms showed a fiber stiffness under the gnarled curves of her skin. She seemed an old apple tree about twelve feet high, twisted, dented and scorched by the task in the fields, forever bent toward her shoots. Sepia and gray moss grew all around the huge burl that served as her head.

A melancholy flame lingered in her eyes, unable to obliterate the love of what is living and will live, but sighing at the irremediable departure of what has ceased to live.

Yet the tree examined with slow caution, Merry squirming, uncomfortable under the calm scrutineer gaze. Standing it no longer, the hobbit finally bowed, breaking the heavy silence:

\- "Meriadoc Brandybuck, Clan Chief and Master of Buckland, gender Hobbit! Let me compliment you for the grace of your conservatory!

\- Ellig-lallaeg-bethig-baineg-ah-lamar-maer-mallon2"chanted the shaft with a shade of defiance in her quavering, yet melodious voice.

Pippin, at first very glad that the review focus on his cousin, felt encouraged by this introduction. Shaking his torpor, he stepped forward, but before he could open his mouth:

\- "Twigs and berries! Would you believe that? A Took! Cheerful and proud as the King, like his ancestors! But a thief periannig, like his sidekick!", added the tree, eyeing the baskets full of mushrooms.

Chilled and sheepish, the two cousins hid their cups on their backs, seeking a way out of this enquiry. Merry protested with caution:

\- "No doubt our culinary enthusiasm has led us to some fungal excess! May I hope to return the records of convivtion?... "

Merry stopped by himself, obsessed with the brown eyes insistent scan. The deep dark and bright eyes sparkled with dubious green stars:

\- "... Master of Buckland! So hurried to challenge its rights to the forest ... Thief indeed! ... But let us not be hasty!... "

The tree paused. The worried and amazed hobbits remained silent, for a striking change had occurred in the face of the woman-tree. The green flames of her eyes now seemed to burn with an intense and clear fire, but very deeply, as if her stirred memories had belonged to a very distant past. Her voice was reduced to a whisper:

\- "You little people remind me of a distant time ... lalla-lallon-mellon-ornon-fangorn-legotauron3…"

A chant rose, as drawling as the long years of wandering on waste lands, or as soothing as sleeping centuries, rooted in the river mud. At length, the hobbits listened to the singing, rising in guttural rolls before dozing into a quiet snoring. Vapors freed by the fermenting liquors, rose to their heads, adding to their confusion. At times some outraged expressions emerged from the tree's lament, chastizing Old-Man-Willow's odious darkness - or the impudence of Periannig children. Finally, after a long chant, the woman-tree huddled again, like a grandmother above the cradle of a newborn.

Merry stepped forward deferentially in the buzzing silence of the declining day. He was about to wake up the tree when Pippin pulled him gently by the shoulder, shaking his head resignedly. Without further consult, they picked up their baskets and went off quietly, embracing these wonders with a last look of regret.

.oOo.

 _Creekhollow, 25_ _th_ _of October of year One thousand four hundred eighty and two of Shire Reckonning4._

 _To the attention of Fangorn_

 _Tree-garth of Orthanc_

 _In the care of the King's Steward_

 _for the tower of Angrenost_

 _Dear Treebeard,_

 _You cannot imagine how I am pleased to write to you! At the great age that is now mine - according to the measure of hobbits - one caters too often one's entourage on the tone of pontificating ancestor, reciting memories, seniority passes off as wisdom! But now my pen feels young again, when it is writing for you, who have measure time at the unchanging rhythm of the seasons for so many ages._

 _At the sundown of our lives, there come to mind the promises we made in the enthusiasm of youth and the euphoria of victory. Some of these promises have come true without us, others in spite of ourselves. And while we actually held a few by bravery or toughness, one of these promises left the bitter taste of a chimeric oath._

 _It has already been a long time, of course, that Pippin and I had realized that an old willow-tree we had met long ago, lurking in her lair in the middle of the Old Forest, could be related to your terrible Huorns. But it is only recently that we lived a strange encounter in the heart of this dangerous area, which reminded us of your beautiful wellinghall, and your sad tale of the Ent-wives._

 _Perhaps shall we be given the opportunity to help you renew the planting of your days, while ending the harvest of our own. Indeed, neither Pippin nor myself are quite sure who we met, because the mood of the lady – since about this we are certain, she was a lady - did not allow us to exceed the greetings, despite her hastiness._

 _We must praise her rose and vegetable garden, and we can attest that her broths have virtues very similar to your Ent droughts. As a matter of fact, Pippin's advanced baldness even appears to be subsiding with unexpected vitality!_

 _No doubt you'll be the ultimate judge of the merits of our hopes. So we urge you to kindly overcome your habits, and join us at the Sarn ford, where we will guide you to the weird and wonderful forest garden and its formidable mistress!_

 _Puisse cette missive vous parvenir, s'il reste encore à Angrenost, des hommes pour se souvenir des Ents et vous transmettre notre message._

 _May this letter reach you, if there remains to Angrenost, people to remember the Ents and convey our message._

 _Your very devoted_

 _Merry_

 _P.S. I count on your wisdom, not to give credence to Merry's false statements about my so-called baldness. I fear Ent droughts can do nothing against the failing memory of his great age. Indeed my cousin used them as a cure for his untimely shortages of vigorous male stiffness... Hoping to meet you soon under the foliage of our woods,_

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Pippin_

.oOo.

1 Hobbits hunt mushrooms. Unlike men, only able to pick them in passing, hobbits stalk and circumvent mushrooms with all the skill granted by a long intimacy with land and woods.

2 Here is a lovely pretty voice and a rather polite style! - Sindarin in Entish mode. (without pun nor misspelling!)

3 "Treebeard, sweet shepherd trees of green forest ..."

4 That is Fourth Age 61, according to Gondor's reckonning.


	6. Rumors and Rheumatisms

**Rumors and rheumatisms**

.oOo.

The two old hobbits watched each other.

Leaning over the checkerboard, they gauged the moves of the adversary with a jaded pout, pushing in turn the beautiful pieces of amber or walrus ivory. This game of tablut – a sumptuous gift from King Elessar – had no longer been amusing them for quite a long time. Meriadoc and his cousin had gone around the strategies of escape and attack. Only Gandalf, Peregrin thought with a little pinch in his heart, would have spiced up their games, with new tactical approaches.

Someone timidly knocked at the door of Brandy Hall's library. One of Meriadoc's daughter-in-law passed her head at the half-open door, to check if the two terrible old hobbits weren't too deeply asleep. Satisfied, the girl advanced with her tray. Two cups of a clear mixture, emitted medicinal scents - about to treat their rheumatism...

Peregrin was tempted to feign nodding, in order to escape the insipid drink. But a little light, which danced in Meriadoc's pupil, dissuaded him.

\- "Then, Esmeralda, sit down for a moment with your old uncles, and tell us a little about the gossip," said the Brandybuck, with a discreet wink to his companion.

\- "Well, I do not listen to gossip that much," replied the young girl, sitting down with a pretty gesture.

.oOo.

An hour later, Esmeralda was still babbling.

She jumped from one subject to another with a disconcerting ease and a logic that seemed weird to her audience.

\- "And do you know that Bullybas Tuck, Master Peregrin's distant cousin on Longcleeve's side, claimed again that an ancestor of the Thain once married a fairy? And this time, he shown a letter from the Old Tuck he found in the Mathom House, in which etc.

This allegation was obviously ridiculous - although Pippin knew better about that! The revengeful fury of his distant relative greatly amused him; Bullybas would never appropriate the title of Thain in this manner... However, he promised himself to go and put some order in the hodgepodge of the museum his grandfather had founded.

But all this cackling caused thirst. Thus the gossip girl had finished by herself the cups of "chamomile" intended for the two deans. And Merry had succeeded, without striking a blow, in serving a glass of his delicious Brandy, which he kept hidden in his secretary.

Merry and Pippin learned in detail, the escapades of the Hobbiton children, the vocal innovations of the inn's drunkards, and the vagaries of the prominent families' matrimonial aims.

The master of Buckland punctuated this eclectic exposition with judicious remarks, which reinforced Esmeralda in her gossip posture:

\- "Tell me, my dear? You have told me your cousin Melilot has eyes only for my grandson Periadoc? But I understand that this guy invited the younger Cress to a picnic on Girdley Island...

The charming mouth of Esmeralda rounded out in a scandalized grin: frolic on the water, then alone on the Elven Island with sinister reputation! She immediately built a plan for recalling Periadoc, with great paternal remonstrance and girlish intrigues.

In return, it was of course necessary to return the courtesy to his voluble daughter-in-law. This was the occasion for Merry, for another toast of brandy. Much nonsense was raised, in the most complete disregard of the most elementary verisimilitude. But how can we question the good faith of such honorable old hobbits? Especially since the brandy vapors strengthened the truthfulness of their unpublished information.

\- "Did you know the delicately acidic taste and the raspberry coloring of the Green Dragon beer have always come from a secret recipe made with cochineal!"

A charming exaggerated grimace was sketched on the round face of Esmeralda, soon leaving in place a grin of disgust.

-"I see you've tasted it!" Chuckled Pippin. But there is worse! I discovered there were beetles in the potatoes of Westfarthing. Yet this is what gives them so much value in the market! Can you imagine that, baking potatoes and bacon ... without bacon! Only the tubers of Master Samwise were free from it!

.oOo.

Esmeralda finally left, her tray full of empty cups and glasses, and her pretty head full of revelations. Merry and Pippin, laughing in jest, savored the propagation of these false news in advance. For that afternoon, they had taken care of their rheumatism!

.oOo.


End file.
